


Repairs

by jazzmckay



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-19 22:58:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8227661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jazzmckay/pseuds/jazzmckay
Summary: It has been over a year since Tex and Connie left the project, and things are settling into place.
(technically follows It Could Be Worse but can be read alone)





	

In small settlements on small colonies, days tends to go by slowly. Tex spends just as much time out back in the junkyard as she does in the shop, poking around stacks of rusty vehicles and other junk that has no other place. It’s a cluttered maze of mismatched machines, broken and forgotten, but Tex’s boss doesn’t see much point in dealing with any of it and has told her to do what she will. 

Tex whistles, and a small chocolate Labrador Retriever bounds towards her from where she had been previously padding around on the back patio of the shop. 

“Hey, girl,” Tex greets the dog. Four months old and still full of limitless energy. Her coat is almost the same shade of brown as Connie’s armour and when Tex had suggested the name Hartford, Connie had shoved a couch pillow in her face, but she must not have truly minded because the name has stuck.

Tex holds up one of the tennis balls from a pack of three she bought at the corner store when they first got their new puppy from the neighbours on the farm up the road. Hartford barks in excitement, jumping around Tex’s legs until she finally tosses the tennis ball out into the junkyard. Hartford races after it, weaving around junked cars and jumping over an abandoned refrigerator knocked down on its back. 

Hartford is quick, starting to grow bigger and more sure on her paws, but a minute passes and she doesn’t return. Tex waits, under the heat of the high sun with her hands on her hips and restless fingers tapping against her leather belt, until she hears far away barking. 

In contrast to Hartford, Tex is slower these days. She jogs before she runs, runs before she sprints, so used to the calm civilian life she’s had for over a year now. Her body builds speed like a system coming out of sleep mode, but luckily she doesn’t have far to go. The first time she’d thrown a tennis ball for Hartford, it had arced and travelled the way a grenade tossed by a super soldier would, but months have passed since that, and Tex has gotten better at fetch. 

Hartford is prowling around a pile of random car parts that the tennis ball has rolled into and is now wedged under the spokes of a tire. Curious, Tex pulls a carburetor off the top of the pile and tosses it away, starting to dislodge the junk to get at what’s underneath. 

She lets out a whistle when she sees the motorcycle. 

Hartford barks at her, impatient for the game of fetch to resume. “I hear ya,” Tex says, reaching for the back of the old motorcycle and pulling with all her synthetic strength until the whole thing comes away from the rest, the tennis ball bouncing out of the wheel as it does. 

Hartford goes for the tennis ball immediately, amusing herself with biting and pawing at it for the time being while Tex gets distracted brushing dust and dirt off the seat of the motorcycle, giving it a good look over. 

The tires are flat, the parts are rusted, and the paint is chipped. Tex loves it. 

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a new project, Hart. You gonna help me get it back to the shop?”

Hartford drops the tennis ball from her mouth and goes to sniff at the bike. After a few seconds, she goes back to the tennis ball. 

“Yeah, you’ll change your tune once I fix it up,” Tex says and pulls the bike upright to slowly push it back through the yard. 

When they get back to the shop, Tex takes the tennis ball and gives it another throw. This time, Hartford comes back with it soon after. In between ball tosses, Tex pulls on the chain to open the back door of the shop, rolling the bike into the empty space behind a car Donny is doing a tune up on. 

“Would you look at that pile of crap,” Don says, poking his head out from under the hood to see what the ruckus is about. “Don’t think it’s worth it.”

“It’s worth it,” Tex says. 

She works on the bike for the rest of the day, replacing parts from what she can salvage and fixing the rest. Donny only sticks around until the owner of the car comes by at the end of the work day, leaving Tex to lock up when she’s ready. 

By the time she should get going, the motorcycle still looks like a mess, but is much closer to working order, and Tex had counted on this giving her a project to focus on over the week anyway. She moves it back outside for the night, leaving room for tomorrow’s appointments, and then clips on Hartford’s leash and heads home. 

Connie’s on the front porch, leaning against the wrap-around wooden railing. 

Hartford gets excited, so Tex lets her off the leash, watching her sprint the rest of the way up the property to Connie for some pats and scratches behind the ears. 

“You’re covered in more dirt and grease than usual,” Connie says when Tex catches up to them and leans in for a kiss. 

“Fetch got wild, today,” Tex explains when they pull away. 

“Don’t know which of you I’ll have to bathe first.”

“Dibs.”

Connie snorts and the three of them head inside. 

 

By the end of the week, all that’s left is a paint job. Deciding they have enough black and brown in their lives already, Tex picks a canister of hot red and loads it into the spray gun. 

“Colour me impressed,” Donny says when he comes out of the office and sees the motorcycle drying in the sun just outside the open doors of the shop. “You know your shit.”

“Vehicles are easy,” Tex says, shrugging. 

She isn’t actually sure she ever repaired anything to this extent before, not with her own hands. She has memories of doing it, goes through the motions like she’s been doing it for decades, but the truth of the matter is that she spent more time riding than fixing during Project Freelancer. 

But this, she knows she did herself. From junk to something good and useful and tangible. 

“It okay if I take off early today?” Tex asks Donny.

He shrugs. “Knock yourself out. Joyride?”

“Going to pick Connie up from work.”

“So _that_ kind of joyride.”

“Shut the hell up, Don.”

Donny guffaws and goes to take a load off behind the front counter. 

Tex finishes the day’s repairs and then leaves with enough time to take Hartford home, clean up, and grab her and Connie’s old helmets before taking the motorcycle back out for a real spin. 

It feels even better to ride a motorcycle in just civilian clothes and her helmet than it does in full armour. She can feel the air zipping past against her bare arms, can squeeze her legs around the sides of the bike in a way that makes them feel like one unit more than combat armour could properly allow, can blur through the streets that she usually only sees at jogging speed. 

It feels like being real. 

Tex makes it to the gym just in time for Connie to walk out, hair still damp from a shower and changed back into her usual clothes. She gives both Tex and the bike an appreciative look as she steps close. 

“Hey, good lookin’,” Tex says. “How ‘bout a ride?”

“You’re lucky I think you’re so cute,” Connie says, but she’s grinning and her cheeks are a little pink.

Tex hands over Connie’s EOD helmet, which Connie takes and fits into place with ease before climbing onto the back of the motorcycle. She wraps her arms around Tex’s waist, fitting in comfortably against Tex’s back. 

“Where to?” Connie asks.

“Thought we could have a night out on the town. Eat somewhere fancy, maybe go dancing. What do you think?”

Connie chuckles and her breath ruffles through the strands of Tex’s long hair. “So, nachos and old rock n roll songs from the jukebox at Susan’s bar and grill.”

“Well, can’t beat a classic.” 

Tex revs the engine and turns into the street, a thrill running through her system when Connie lets out a jubilant whoop behind her. 

She has a motorcycle under her, sun and wind against her skin, and Connie’s warm arms wrapped around her, and she feels alive.


End file.
